Prompt: Kindrie/Kirien, “would you rather fight a [X]-sized [Y] or 50 [Y]-sized [X]s?”
Ok I’m done I swear.
send me a character/pairing and a prompt, and I'll write a three-ish sentence fic!
Kindrie has never been pleasantly drunk before--in fact, he's not sure he's ever allowed himself to be drunk before, and it's taking a certain conscious effort to restrain his body's immediate instinct to purge a poison on contact. But Kirien is sitting on a couch with her boots and socks stripped off and her shirt unlaced at her throat, and she's grinning at him with an easy kind of amusement that he likes, a bit of a wine flush on her cheeks and her eyes bright, and he finds himself smiling back and letting her tuck her feet under his crossed legs.
"Okay, another one," she announces, gesturing to him with one of her elegant hands, a black ink blotch on the meat of her thumb. "Would you rather fight one rathorn sized jewel-jaw, or fifty jewel-jaw sized rathorns, or your cousin?"
A laugh bubbles up from Kindrie's throat, but Kirien has a certain inexorable-ness to her, sometimes, and this, her declaration that they were getting drunk to celebrate surviving the latest disaster, has carried him along like a warm, syrup-thick river current, so he plays along. "Which cousin?"
"Oh, Jame, of course."
Kindrie nods solemnly and pretends to be contemplative, and then says, "The rathorns."
"You're a madman," Kirien declares immediately.
"They're sentient!" Kindrie protests. "Jewel-jaws just--chitter, I don't like them."
Kirien laughs uproariously at that. "And your cousin? Where does she fall on the sentience scale?"
Kindrie grins a little and says, "I've been in her head, and your guess is still as good as mine."















